


A Savior in an Endless Nightmare

by heytheregisela



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: M/M, Mavin, Spooky, mavin fanfic, not really terrifying but maybe spooky, roosterteeth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-19 16:05:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11901249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heytheregisela/pseuds/heytheregisela
Summary: What was one to do when they could feel a finger trailing up their arm—soft and gentle, yet the touch was slightly cold? What would that person do if the hair on their arm rose, along with goosebumps, everywhere that finger brushed? And if that finger made its way to their shoulder before the rest of the hand joined, grabbing their shoulder and a giving it one squeeze?Oh, sure, that could be a good thing. A mere sign of affection? Yes. That is until they remembered they lived alone and no one had come over.





	A Savior in an Endless Nightmare

**Author's Note:**

> WHAT DO YOU MEAN GISELA IS POSTING SOMETHING NEW???? HAHAHA. Well, this isn't actually new. I wrote this almost two years ago and never posted it anywhere online. But while looking through my documents earlier today, I found this and read through it. I thought I'd share some of it. This isn't everything I wrote of it, but if people are interested, I'll post more of what I wrote and attempt to complete it. 
> 
> I just felt like sharing one more story with all of you since I never gave a proper "goodbye" to fanfics and to everyone who read them. I edited it as best as I could, changed a few things here and there, but I mostly kept it the same. My writing style hasn't changed much, or really at all as I've been working on original stories now. So, if you've read stuff from me before, this'll be familiar. 
> 
> Enjoy and let me know what you think. It was a little funny reading this after being used to reading and writing OCs, but it gave me a nice wave of nostalgia and happiness. 
> 
> Even if I don't watch AH like I used to (although I do keep up with podcasts), I'll always cherish Mavin. Okay, enough rambling. Enjoy. :)

What was one to do when they could feel a finger trailing up their arm—soft and gentle, yet the touch was slightly cold? What would that person do if the hair on their arm rose, along with goosebumps, everywhere that finger brushed? And if that finger made its way to their shoulder before the rest of the hand joined, grabbing their shoulder and a giving it one squeeze?

Oh, sure, that could be a good thing. A mere sign of affection? Yes, that is until they remembered they lived alone and no one had come over. _No one_ had a key to their place and they were certain they locked everything up before settling on the couch. Well, that would cause for some troubling feelings and thoughts, and would lock the person up in fear.

The hand would give another squeeze and whoever that hand belonged to would lean their head down slightly, enough for the other to feel their breath on the back of their neck like the air that comes out after opening the freezer.

“ _Michael_ ,” the whisper would say, lack of any existing emotion. That would be where _Michael_ would realize what was happening—all over again, just like always.

Usually the next part would be him jumping up and running as fast as he could manage, as fast as his legs would allow, throughout the apartment that grew seemingly different than his actual one. And that would make him lost as to where the hell he was heading, risking his chances at being caught by whatever the _fuck_ was following him.

Every time, he would end up running into a bedroom, strangely larger than any other room he had peeked into. The master bedroom, he would decide, because putting a name to it helped in calming him a little. He would swallow hard and find his mouth to be dry. He would clutch his chest and bend over to steady his breathing, realizing how rapid his heart was pounding and would know most of it wasn't from running. He wouldn't stand there for long, worried of being founded. He would turn toward the window and haul his ass over to it.

Sometimes, it would take him a while to pull it up, and maybe that was due to how badly his hands would be trembling. But when he would finally get the window open, he would gasp as a face stared back at him, grin widening by the second and wild red eyes that _glowed._

Michael would turn to find another way out and be struck with the same sight behind him, only a head and a body would be accompanying that face. What happened afterward always differed, but whatever happened would still make him wake up in a cold sweat, shaking everywhere and breathing so heavily that he thought his heart was going to burst.

This time, however, Michael wanted to try something different instead of taking off from running from where he was sitting. He had the power to do so, right? This was a nightmare. This wasn't real. That much he knew. Or at least... that's what he told himself, especially his friends and family. But what would they know? They only heard what he told them. They never got to experience it first-hand. Who was to say this wasn't just a nightmare?

Why was it that the nightmare would play on exact repeat all up until the confrontation? He had to admit, as much it pained him to think about; each time it differed, the _thing_ got closer in taking his life. Its hands were getting closer each time, closer to thrusting themselves inside Michael's chest, and he was absolutely _terrified_ of allowing that to really happen.

Waking up would save him, but with how much closer it was getting, he knew there would be a time where waking up would no longer be his solution.

Therefore, he had an idea this time. Perhaps if he could change the beginning, he could change the rest completely as well. He could win this time. It would all be over once he won, right? _Game over, asshole._

Michael held his breath as the whisper appeared by his left ear. This was his opportunity.

Releasing that breath, Michael got to his feet, but instead of running, he curled his fingers into tight fists and turned around only to remember why he would always run. He hadn't thought it all through. _Clearly._ What was he even supposed to do after turning around? _Punch_ the damn thing? Could he even touch it? Or was it only able to touch him? Well, he couldn't answer any of these questions after he met its eyes. He gasped and stumbled backwards, because its face appeared to be different than the one he was used to in the master bedroom. Its eyes were nothing but red and hallow holes within its face, but its grin was visibly there, _taunting_ him. Michael felt the backs of his calves crash into the coffee table he couldn't recall was there before, and as he glanced down at it, he felt the breath brush against his cheek.

His body tensed. He wasn't shaking anymore at this point. He stood completely still and idly worried if his heart had also stopped along with the rest of him. As a cold finger seemed to trace around the freckles dusting his face, he opened his mouth and somehow, he got himself to scream.

“Michael! _Michael_!”

Michael was pushing whoever was holding him and waking him up, unaware that he was no longer dreaming by this point, though he kept his eyes closed.

“Michael, stop! _Look_ at me!” The familiar and kind voice begged. It was when they cupped his face that he obliged, opening his eyes to meet theirs. He sighed shakily in relief to see the blue-green eyes that sent comfort throughout him.

“What are you doing here?” He asked. The corners of Lindsay's lips rose sadly and she removed her hands from his face.

“I remembered I left my wallet here and instead of coming by early tomorrow morning like a normal person, I decided to come by in the middle of the night.” She was holding something back. It was evident by the way she was looking at him.

“And because it gave you a good opportunity to check up on me since you know the trouble I've been having with sleep?” Michael suggested, though he knew the answer. Lindsay shrugged.

“What was it about this time?” She asked him.

“The _same_ thing. It's _always_ about the same thing. God _damnit._ _Why_ do I keep having the _same_ nightmare every _fucking_ night?” Michael's words were harsh, but his voice was barely a whisper. He dropped his gaze from Lindsay and was now staring at his own hands. They were trembling.

Lindsay noticed this as well and gently grabbed them, holding them in her own. Michael wanted to close his eyes again. They were begging for more sleep, but more sleep only meant more of that nightmare, and he was in no mood for it to happen twice in one night.

“What time is it?”

“Uh, just after midnight,” Lindsay answered.

“Great. I only got two hours of sleep. Tomorrow's going to be _awesome_.”

“I know you've heard it a lot from Ray, Kerry, Miles, and Barbara, but...” Lindsay frowned, “Maybe it is a good idea to, you know, go see someone about this.” Michael groaned, pulling his hands away from hers to cross his arms.

“Hey, you're losing more and more sleep and it's really worrying me,” Lindsay went on. “Okay, even taking meds isn't helping anymore. You look like _shit_.”

“Thanks, Linds,” Michael sarcastically remarked. She was right, though. When was the last time he got more than maybe four hours of sleep?

“Just think about it, Michael. You can give it a try and if you don't like it, then you can stop.” It was the same speech had given him a week earlier and Michael hated how tempted he was now.

 

* * *

 

  
“My name's Michael and I've been having the same reoccurring nightmare that feels _way_ too real for a few months now, and it's preventing me from getting a full night's sleep,” Michael spoke rapidly, that being the first thing to come out of his mouth since he entered the therapist's office. For the past thirty minutes, he'd only been sitting still and listening to whatever the man sitting across from him had to say. It was typical shit he expected to hear, and then he was told to just say whatever came to mind. So, he did.

He was silent again, slumping a little in his seat and wishing he was anywhere but there. They had an hour together. Thirty more minutes. He promised Lindsay he would try this out. After the thirty minutes were up, he could call her and tell her he tried. He did not like it. She couldn't tell him to try again.

He didn't bother to look up to see what kind of expression the man in front of him had. He just wanted to go honestly, but he decided it was best to stay until the end.

“What exactly happens in this nightmare?” For a moment, Michael could have sworn he only imagined that question, but then he heard a clear of a throat and knew the therapist was waiting.

Michael shifted in his seat. His friends had been told the details, though he wasn't sure how he felt about telling all of it to a stranger. He licked his lips and wiped his palms on his jeans, just then realizing how sweaty they were. Even simply _thinking_ about the dream put him on edge.

“Th-there's this thing and uh, I think it wants to kill me,” he spoke softly.

“Why do you think that?”

“Because every time before I wake up, it tries grabbing at me and it looks like it's aiming for my heart.” Michael felt heat rise to his cheeks. Saying it out loud sounded more ridiculous than it did in his head. He was supposed to be telling the truth. That _was_ the truth.

“What does it look like?”

Michael had one image of the thing that had burned itself into his brain, but after his most recent nightmare, he didn't know what the thing truly looked like. Apparently, it could change its face. Although, it's smile remained the same.

“I can probably draw it for you,” he offered, looking around for any signs of paper and pencils. They were all next to the therapist though. “I'm not an artist, but I'm alright.”

“That's a great idea,” the therapist—oh, seriously, what was his name again? Michael couldn't be bothered to remember it—said with a nod. Michael watched as the man grab a notepad and pencil before handing it to him. Michael tentatively took the supplies.

It was a long while that Michael just stared at the blank paper with pencil loosely held in his hand. He wasn't going to lie—he had attempted to draw it before and always seemed to fail with it. Those times were merely for himself. This time, it was for someone else and he gulped as he finally began the outline of the creature. The more he drew it, the more it really looked the way it did in his head. Drawing its grin was the hardest part and Michael had to keep taking deep breaths to steady himself as he finished it off. After doing so, he all but threw the notepad at the therapist and mumbled an apology.

As the man began to examine Michael's drawing, Michael stared hard at him and his brows twitched together when a flash of recognition crossed the therapist's face. He was ready to ask about that when the man cleared his throat and said, “That's something.”

Michael blinked a few times, thinking he must have only imagined the expression, so he just nodded. “Uh, yeah. Well, that's it. That's what I keep dreaming about. Every night.” The rest of that meeting became a blur to Michael, because as he tried listening to whatever else the therapist had to say, he was off thinking about how much he craved sleep. His eyelids were heavy and any energy he had in him was scarce. He distinctly remembered the man telling him he hoped to see him again as he headed out of his office, but he couldn't remember if he said anything in return.

He honestly couldn't decide how he felt about the whole ordeal. He didn't say as much as he probably should have. But he did draw! So that was sort of good, right? Maybe giving it _one_ _more_ try wouldn't hurt. Maybe he would talk more next time. It would have to depend on how he felt in the morning after he attempted for another night of sleep.

Although, when he got settled into bed hours later, dread took over. He was dreading sleep now, no matter how badly his eyes and body wanted it. He knew what was coming and it made his stomach turn.

“Just close your eyes and relax,” he told himself, taking a deep breath. “You can't let it fucking win. It's not gonna happen.” He was whispering, as if it mattered; he lived alone.

After managing to calm his nerves down enough with deeper breaths and positive thoughts, Michael turned over onto his side as his eyes fluttered shut. It took him no time at all to be transported into the scene he was much too familiar with. He opened his eyes in the dream with a quiet gasp and already feeling the finger trailing up his arm, and he felt sick.

The routine went on as usual and as soon as he heard the whisper, he got up and ran, recalling how “changing” anything about the beginning of the dream ended in terrible results. This time, he would try to change the middle. As he ran through the hallway, he skipped the master bedroom and pushed open the door next to it, stumbling inside. He made sure to quietly close the door to not make his location evident to the thing and then began stepping backward away, afraid it was going to bust into the room at any second. But when he felt his back bump into someone, his mouth fell open.

 _No._ This _couldn't_ be happening. It found him already... in a different room.

A hand was placed on his shoulder and he let out a small yelp.

“Don't worry,” a voice said to him and Michael furrowed his eyebrows. He had _never_ heard it say anything to him other than his name... and he was _certain_ it didn't have an accent. He would have noticed that. Curiosity taking over, Michael looked over his shoulder and almost jumped in surprise to find himself staring at another _human._ Yes, this guy was human. His face was _normal_. It didn't have hallow holes for eyes or a disturbingly wide grin. Though he _did_ have a pretty big nose, but it wasn't scary.

Michael fully turned around at this point, gaping in awe. The guy looked about ready to speak again when a thud caused them both to flinch. Michael looked back toward the door when the guy grabbed his hand and yanked him toward the other side of the partly empty room. There was a large table conveniently placed in the corner with a white long table cloth covering it and Michael wondered for a moment if he was seriously in his nightmare or if this was _real,_ because everything did feel _real._ He could _really_ feel the stranger holding his hand, his skin warm and soft. He could _really_ feel himself being tugged in a certain direction and could _really_ hear his own heart pounding in his ears.

“Under there,” the stranger instructed, urging Michael underneath the table. Michael quickly crawled under there and curled up to himself as the British guy joined him seconds later. If it weren't for the light in the room, it would have been pitched dark where they were hiding, but they could see each other fairly well.

The guy stared at him, concern dancing in his eyes as he watched and heard Michael's shaky breaths. “You can't be afraid,” he told Michael. “It finds you by your fear.”

“Maybe you should shut the fuck up before it hears you,” Michael harshly whispered.

The guy chuckled and shook his head. “No worries there, love,” Michael raised an eyebrow there at the nickname but didn't comment, “I don't think it can hear, but it can sense fear.”

“And how the fuck do you know that?”

“Well, every time it's found you, you were terrified, yeah?”

“Uh, _yeah_.”

“Right. Now try _not_ being terrified.”

“H-how the fuck-”

“What's your name?”

Michael blinked, a bit taken aback by the sudden question, but he realized instantly what this guy was attempting. And he was silently grateful, though he wasn't sure if it would work. “Michael... Michael Jones,” he answered softly.

“Michael,” the guy repeated, his lips twitching up, as if testing how it sounded to him. “Okay, Michael, what do you do for a living? Do you have a job?” Michael shook his head.

“N-no, I...” Michael sighed in defeat, “I was recently fired, because I was too distracted or some shit. But I have enough saved to handle bills and anything else that requires money for a few months. I'm, uh, thinking about going back to school, but I don't know.” He shrugged.

“Hmm. Do you have any friends?”

“Yeah, I—” Michael was cut off by the sounds of footsteps approaching the door and his eyes went wide. The guy immediately grabbed his hands and laced their fingers together, causing Michael's attention to be drawn down to look at that.

“So, your friends?” He was asking again. Michael licked his lips and nodded, making eye contact with him.

“My friends... um, Lindsay... Lindsay's my best friend. She was the first person I got to know when I, uh, moved here to Texas from, um, New Jersey. We met at the grocery store and we both reached for the last box of Macaroni and Cheese. Instead of fighting over it, we complained about how _stupid_ it was for a grocery store not to keep their fucking Mac and Cheese stocked.” Michael paused to laugh a little as he thought back to that day. “We just kept on talking from there, gave each other our numbers, and slowly became the best friends we are today.”

The guy seemed to be waiting for him to go on by simply giving a nod to indicate that he was listening and Michael _almost_ smiled.

“My other friends are Ray, Kerry, Miles, and Barbara. I met Ray over the internet when I was still living in New Jersey and he was living in New York. When I told him I was moving to Austin, he came down with me to see my new place, and for a while, he would just visit until he ended up deciding to move here, too. He and Lindsay became fast friends. Kerry and Miles came along next. Ray actually met them one night when he went to go see a movie with his girlfriend—who, by the way, is really cool, too—and I guess they all started talking afterward. He eventually introduced them to Lindsay and me. They easily fitted in with us, since we're basically all into the same things.

“And then Barbara... I only met her a few months ago; she's a barista at this coffee shop I decided to try one day and she was just always working when I went. We kind of just hit it off after the many times I went, especially after she thought it would be funny to draw a dick on my coffee, so I asked her to hang out with my friends and me. You know, she's nice and everything, but god damn, I never thought I could get annoyed with puns, but she can make a pun out of _anything._ I don't fucking understand. And she _won't_ stop!”

The guy laughed and Michael felt something warm up inside him as he listened. Without him asking, Michael began to tell him more about his friends, about the things they've gone through together so far, and explained a few of their inside jokes and how they came to be. He talked on and on, as if he had known this guy for as long as he knew Lindsay or Ray. And he was _just_ starting to notice that there were no more other strange noises or presences going on around them.

“Your friends sound lovely,” the guy said after Michael finished telling a story where he woke up on a king-sized bed with Lindsay, Barbara, Miles, and Kerry and none of them could remember how they ended up in a hotel room. Ray was no help since he wasn't involved in their wild night, so they were left clueless.

Michael squinted his eyes at him. “What about you?” He asked.

“What about me?”

“Well, shit,” Michael shrugged. “I've been sitting here, _cramped_ under this table with you, and been only talking about myself. So, what about you? I don't even know your name. Let's start with that, at least.” A part of him felt silly for asking. He was still aware that he was inside his nightmare, that this wasn't exactly real, no matter how much it did feel like this was a day he was living like any other. So, he knew this person sitting next to him was also... not real. He couldn't be. Michael must have dreamed him up to keep him at ease somehow, and he had to admit that it was working, because that _thing_ seemed to have left.

But why now? Why didn't he try dreaming up someone else before? And _why_ was it someone he didn't even know? It would have made more sense for it to be one of his friends...

“Gavin,” he responded finally and Michael looked at him.

“ _Gavin_...?”

Gavin cocked his head to side, clearly not getting what Michael was trying to ask. Michael huffed.

“Gavin what? I told you my last name.”

Gavin smiled crookedly as he said, “Just Gavin.” Despite it being a little irritating that Gavin was refusing to give out any more information when Michael had told him a lot, Michael let it be.

“Well, Gavin,” Michael sighed, but then paused completely as he looked for the right thing to say. “Um, thank you.”

“For?” Gavin asked, his eyebrows shooting up. The corners of Michael's lips rose. Another thing he had to admit was how attractive Gavin was and him making bewildered faces only made him painfully more adorable. Michael swallowed roughly.

“You know what you did,” he told him. Gavin smirked.

“I didn't do anything, Michael. _You're_ the one who stopped being afraid and now you can wake up to find that you've been sleeping all night.”

Michael simply stared at Gavin at first while his mouth kept opening and clamping shut. Gavin's smile increased at the sight of that.

“You don't believe me,” he stated, though it somewhat sounded like a question. Michael just didn't know anymore. “Michael,” Gavin spoke again, “I need you to do the same that you did tonight _tomorrow_ night.”

Michael snorted and rolled his eyes. “So, it's not over?”

There was a sad kind of a smile that replaced the amused one on Gavin's face. “I'm afraid not. It's a persistent thing, but the more you show that you aren't scared of it, the more it'll begin to leave you alone.”

“And you?” Michael asked.

“I will be here, for as long as you need me,” Gavin assured him, giving his hands a gentle squeeze. “You can wake up now.”

“Where will you...” Michael trailed off as he thought about how silly his question was going to sound. Where would Gavin be while he was awake, and going through his day? That wasn't exactly a question to ask someone from a _dream._ Yet, he wondered, just for a moment, no matter how illogical it could be, he wondered if there was a separate world from his reality, and if his nightmare was a part of it.

Is that why Gavin was there? Did Gavin live there? Michael averted his eyes and pulled his hands away from Gavin's.

He was feeling foolish for overthinking this. Overanalyzing a freaking _dream._ Oh, but that was his original problem, wasn't it? That his nightmare felt too real, like he was actually going to be killed by whatever was haunting him within it? It was why he'd been losing sleep and was needing to talk to a therapist. It was why his friends were worried about him. It was why he was worried for himself.

Now Gavin was here. Another reason for him to want to make sense of everything in the best way he could, for his own sanity. How the fuck did his life come to this? Seriously. He was just a guy from Jersey. He didn't do any weird shit or try summoning demons. So, what did he do to deserve this hell? Well, if he was being honest, Gavin being a part of it made it a little better. At least he wouldn't have to be alone. That way he wouldn't be able to easily give into his fear and if what Gavin said was correct, that thing would end up leaving for good.

Regaining himself, Michael looked up to find Gavin was no longer there. His breath hitched in his throat. The dread was already rising in him as he considered the possibilities. He hurried out from under the table, but just as he was getting on his feet, he woke up to the sight of his bedroom. There was something different about it this time, though. After rubbing his eyes and grabbing his phone to check the time, he realized what it was.

The sun was up and it was eight in the morning. He had slept through the entire night, just like Gavin had said he would. He was awake and alert. His eyes weren't sore from lack of rest and he didn't have the need to fall over. He had slept. He had finally and honestly _slept_.

Michael tossed the covers off himself and threw his legs over the edge, genuinely smiling for the first time in months.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't check tumblr as much as I used to, but you can find me on twitter @heytheregisela !! Let me know there or on here if you'd like me to try finishing this. I'll admit, it might be a little tough finishing it off, considering I haven't written any kind of fanfic in over a year, but I will do my best if people want me to. :D


End file.
